by Ginn Hale
“Yes, Javier Tornesal, Duke of Rauma. He will be your upperclassman.”
Chapter Two
More than spacious, the room was vast and nearly empty. Two beds stood against opposite walls, one of them little more than a wood frame and mattress while the other seemed well used and only half made. A dresser and writing table stood beside it and several black, leather-bound books lay on the table along with an inkwell and a penknife.
Normally, Kiram would have found some excuse to look through the books. This once he wasn’t paying so much attention to them.
Instead he stared at the maze of thin red-brown lines that curved and spiraled across the floor like a gigantic map of the heavens.
For a brief moment Kiram thought of Yassin Lif-Harun. He wondered if it was possible that the academy had left one of the famous astronomer’s early drawings intact out of reverence. Almost at once Kiram noted that the lines on the floor didn’t match any particular constellation and that the ink was far too fresh to have been spread across this floor a century ago.
Long shafts of light poured in from the slit windows, illuminating a series of ellipses and the scrawling, strange letters that they enclosed. The ink seemed to shift in color, rusty brown in some areas, deep red in others.
Kiram glanced to Scholar Blasio, hoping for an explanation, but the man didn’t seem to take any note of the floor. He pointed the barren bed pushed up against the west wall.
“The housekeepers should have your bedding brought up before dinner, but if they don’t all you need to do is pull the bell cord just outside the door and someone will come up directly.” Scholar Blasio pulled the heavy, oak door back open. “You saw the bell chord, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” Kiram didn’t bother to look at the dark blue braided cord a second time. He frowned at the arc of letters surrounding a dark red line at the foot of his new bed. The writing was Cadeleonian but Kiram didn’t recognize a single word.
“The bath is through there.” Scholar Blasio pointed to a narrow door just past the writing desk. “In the summer, though, many of the students prefer to wash in the orchard lake. The water is quite shallow and warm. I used go there myself when I was a student but now that I’m an instructor I don’t go so often. It’s best that instructors and students don’t mix.” Scholar Blasio kept his gaze away from the floor, and even the bed and desk against the east wall. He gripped the iron doorknob in one hand.
Kiram realized that just standing in this room disturbed the scholar.
“Fifth bell will sound for dinner. It’s best to come dressed formally. You have your uniform, I assume?”
Kiram nodded.
“Good, good…” Scholar Blasio faded off, staring out one of the dozen tall, narrow windows. The knuckles of his hand went white as he continued to grip the doorknob.
“You could sleep in the stables, you know,” Scholar Blasio said at last.
“With the animals?” Kiram couldn’t hide his offense at the suggestion. He wasn’t some stray dog that a student had taken pity on. He had been invited by the headmaster to study at the academy. His mother had already paid a full year’s tuition.
“No, of course not.” Scholar Blasio blanched, and the freckles on his face looked suddenly very dark. “It’s a lovely room really. Lots of light and Javier says that it’s quite warm in the winter. The fireplace is huge. I’m sure you’ll be comfortable here.”
Kiram pointed to the floor but Scholar Blasio spoke before he could get his question out.
“You probably want to unpack and wash up. I’ll just go down and see about your bedding.” With that he slipped out of the room and pulled the door shut behind him.
Kiram would have laughed at the scholar’s awkward exit if it hadn’t been so disconcerting.
For a few moments he stood in the doorway, studying the floor. He had never believed in Cadeleonian superstitions and didn’t think now was a good time to start. He boldly walked across the floor and when he caught himself picking a careful path between the flowing lines of ink, he forced himself to step directly on the strange words, just to prove that they were meaningless.
He reached his bed without incident and laid his trunk on the floor. The big, white mattress looked inviting. Kiram ached to lie down and sink into it, but he and his clothes were both too filthy.
He opened his trunk and found his soap tin as well as the thin white prayer clothes that his uncle had insisted he pack. Hidden beneath them, Kiram discovered a small satchel stuffed with dried mint leaves and pieces of his favorite rosewater taffy. A gift from his mother. Doubtless she’d hidden several in his things, as was her habit.
A wave of homesickness overwhelmed him. He had only just arrived at the academy and already he felt completely out of his depth.
“To fear what you do not understand is to mistake ignorance for safety.”
Traveling Haldiim scholars were constantly repeating that proverb. For the first time, Kiram thought he might understand why they would need to.
The bathroom was little more than a closet with a large iron tub and several porcelain jars of cool water. Kiram washed quickly. When he was done he pulled the stopper out of the base of the iron tub and listened as the water drained away. A moment later he heard the faint sound of the water pouring out of some rainspout just outside the building. That was a clever design, Kiram decided, and he felt a little of his delight with the academy returning.
He dressed in his prayer clothes. The thin cotton clung to his damp skin, but it was better than putting his dirty travel clothes back on.
He left the bathroom and started for his own bed. Then one of the books on the nearby writing table caught his attention. A circle of gilded script shone from the black leather cover. Like the words scrawled across the floor, each of the curling letters looked so close to common Cadeleonian writing that Kiram thought that he ought to be able to read them. If he just glanced at the words’ lengths and shapes, they seemed recognizable. Only when he looked closer did they melt into gibberish.
He picked the book up and leafed through it. A deep, woody scent drifted up from the thick parchment.
The last third of the book was empty. But the pages that did contain text were crammed with blocks of tightly packed, hand-written script. Every few pages there were drawings of circles and curling lines. Some looked like ornate knives, others like tangled briars or strangely skewed constellations. The very same designs that decorated the floor.
Three that resembled blades were almost under Kiram’s feet. They seemed to be pointing at the other bed in the room. Javier’s bed, Kiram assumed. The dark blue blankets were slightly rumpled, revealing an expanse of clean, white sheets.
Kiram laid the book back on the table and turned to his own bed. As he did, he realized that the door to the room stood open. Javier Tornesal leaned against the doorframe, silently watching him.
He was tall even for a Cadeleonian and very well dressed. The black silk suns of the Tornesal crest adorned the sleeves of his dark blue jacket. The same silk stitching ran down the length of his fitted riding pants and the seams of his leather boots and gloves. He wore a large gold signet ring on his right hand.
And yet, for all his refined dress, there was still something about Javier’s lean build, unkempt black hair and hard dark gaze that reminded Kiram of those rangy youths who haunted the smoke alleys of Anacleto and made their money with their knives. Kiram’s father called them ‘street snakes’ and no Haldiim from any good family ever spoke to one of them.
“I would have announced myself but I didn’t want to disturb your reading.” Javier’s voice was softer than Kiram had expected and much lower.
“I wasn’t—” Kiram cut himself off. It was bad enough that he’d been caught going through Javier’s book; he shouldn’t also try to lie to the man about it. “I know that I shouldn’t have been reading your book but I recognized the writing on the cover of the book as the same that was on the floor and I wondered what it all meant. I’m sorry.”
>
Javier regarded him for a moment, a slight curve spread across his sharply bowed lips. “Did you figure it out?”
“No,” Kiram admitted. “I couldn’t read any of it.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed.” Javier crossed the room to the bedside. As he passed, Kiram caught the scents of leather and sweat. He noticed tiny spears of golden straw caught in the laces of Javier’s black boots. Javier picked up the book and for an instant his amused expression seemed to falter; then the hard arrogance returned and he tossed the book to Kiram.
“Look through it all you like.” Javier sat down on the edge of his bed and began pulling off one of his boots. “Only the eyes of the damned can read it.”
The soft leather cover felt hot against Kiram’s palm. “That’s not possible. Any script written can be learned and read.”
“Of course it can be learned, but only for a price.” Javier’s tone was unconcerned, but when he looked up at Kiram his expression seemed so serious that Kiram found it difficult to meet his intense, dark gaze. “Relinquish your soul to me and I will reveal every mystery of the white hell to you.”
Kiram didn’t believe in the white hell but there was a strange appeal to the way Javier offered him the knowledge, like some exotic, dangerous proposition right out of the storybooks of his childhood. Such proposals always led the young heroes to adventure and romance.
Javier suddenly laughed and tossed his boot down on the floor.
“Are you actually considering the offer?” Javier shook his head. A lock of his black hair fell across his face and he shoved it back brusquely. “You’d sell your soul to me in exchange for a reading from my insane great-grandfather’s diary? And they say all you Haldiim are clever conmen.”
“I didn’t agree,” Kiram objected though he could feel a guilty heat flush his face. “I didn’t even believe you.”
“You did,” Javier replied with a smile. “I could see it in your face.”
“No, I didn’t.” Kiram sat down on his own bed. “I just didn’t know what to say to you. You haven’t even introduced yourself and here you are offering to buy my soul. How am I supposed to know that you aren’t a madman?”
“Indeed.” Javier relented so easily that it surprised Kiram. “Who’s to say I’m not a madman?”
For a few moments there was silence. Kiram couldn’t think of anything to say and Javier seemed intent on removing his remaining boot. At last, he placed the second boot beside the first and pushed them both to the foot of his bed and began to unbutton his jacket. “I assumed that Scholar Blasio told you who and what I am.”
“He said that you were the only student here that had nothing to lose by having me in his room.”
“Well, nothing except my privacy, it would appear.” Javier’s gaze flicked to the book in Kiram’s hand.
“I explained that already.” Again that intense heat flushed across Kiram’s face. He prayed that the natural darkness of his skin would hide his guilty blush. “I apologized and I swear I won’t do it again.”
For some reason Javier laughed at this. “Do it all you like. Just remember that I may require payment of you in return.”
Kiram thought Javier was joking again but he couldn’t be absolutely certain.
Javier tossed his jacket onto his bed and then slid his long white fingers through the laces that held his shirt closed. He wore a gold medallion of some kind around his neck. Kiram wondered if it was another crest but his attention quickly slipped from the medallion as Javier pulled his shirt entirely off. Kiram couldn’t help but notice how black the hair of Javier’s chest looked against his pale skin. The sharp pattern of it was nothing like the blonde down of Kiram’s own body.
Javier glanced to him and Kiram looked quickly away.
“To be honest, there’s nothing of much interest in the book. Those marks around your bed are blessings to protect you in your sleep when your soul is vulnerable. This here,” Javier pointed to one of the designs beside his stocking feet, “is a ward to keep the white hell that lives in me from hunting while I sleep. You should be safe.”
“You really believe that there’s a hell within you?” Kiram asked.
“I know there is,” Javier replied and this time there was no trace of humor in his voice.
Javier loosed his belt buckle and pulled the leather belt out from the loops in his pants. Then he started working the tiny gold buttons of his pants apart. A surge of shock rushed through Kiram, though he could not quite bring himself to avert his gaze.
“Are you taking off all your clothes?”
Javier cocked his head slightly and regarded Kiram. “Why else would I be unbuttoning my pants?”
“Why are you taking them off?” Kiram ignored Javier’s question.
“Well, while you might bathe fully dressed,” Javier said with a smile, “I prefer to wash naked.”
Kiram didn’t have a reply for Javier’s sarcasm. He busied himself with unpacking the belongings in his trunk. He heard Javier’s pants fall to the floor.
“Did you leave any water?”
“What?” Kiram glanced back at Javier. Only the gold medallion remained on his body; otherwise he was a perfect expanse of white and black, like a figure seen at night when all the color had drained from the world. Only the faintest hint of red colored his nipples and genitals. As Kiram took in the sight he felt his face flushing once again.
“Water.” Kiram belatedly remembered Javier’s question. “There’s enough water left for another bath.”
“Excellent,” Javier replied. “Saves you the work of hauling a bucket up for me.”
He strode to the bathroom but didn’t close the door behind him. Was that a normal Cadeleonian behavior or more hell-branded eccentricity? Almost unwillingly Kiram stole a glance at Javier’s naked back.
Javier slid a ceramic tile aside to expose a cupboard in the bathroom wall. A shaving razor as well as towels, soap, and scrub brushes filled the space. Another clever design.
“Hey.” Javier glanced back over his shoulder at Kiram. “Come over here and give me a hand.”
“With what?” Kiram demanded. He hoped this wasn’t more of Javier’s strange humor.
Javier simply waved a scrub brush at him. Kiram rose and joined him in the bathroom.
There were dozens of common bathhouses back home in Anacleto but most were in the Cadeleonian section of the city. Kiram’s family had two private baths and certainly would never have expected Kiram to have to scrub the back of some strange man. The idea of it both excited and unnerved him.
“What should I call you?” Javier asked as he soaped himself. Kiram watched the thick white bubbles slide along the curves of Javier’s muscular shoulders and thighs. He wondered if all Cadeleonian men were so at ease in front of one another. Was it so common that the scents and sights of their naked bodies no longer affected them?
“Kiram is fine, unless students at the academy go by their family names.”
“Given names, otherwise half the school would be answering to the name Grunito. There are two enrolled right now and more on the way.”
“What about you,” Kiram asked. “Just Javier?”
“Upperclassman Javier, if we’re in public.”
Kiram ran his hand over the bristles of the scrub-brush. They felt too stiff to use on skin as fine as Javier’s. Though now that he was standing so close, Kiram could see that there were imperfections in Javier’s body. The most noticeable was the raw, half-healed scar that ran up his left wrist.
Kiram placed the scrub brush against Javier’s back and drew it gently up along the line of his spine and then over his jutting shoulder blades. Javier leaned back into Kiram’s ministrations just slightly.
Other scars nicked and cut across Javier’s lean body but most of those were much older and had faded to white. On Javier’s right shoulder there was a circular scar that looked almost like a written word. Kiram didn’t recognize it, but the shape was familiar. Kiram had no doubt that this, too, was writte
n in that same hellscript. Scholar Blasio had called Javier hell-branded. Kiram wondered if this was the actual brand.
“Put some force into it,” Javier instructed. “You’re not brushing a kitten, you know.”
Kiram scowled at Javier’s back. He had wanted Javier to like his touch, not mock his ignorance. Kiram shoved the bristles of the scrub-brush hard against Javier’s skin leaving a red track. Javier pulled back from him.
“Touchy, aren’t you?”
“I’m just ensuring that you will be clean.” Kiram could hear the petulance in his own voice.
“Ensuring that I won’t have skin is more like it. Haven’t you ever done this before?”
“No,” Kiram admitted.
“Let me show you, then.” Javier’s voice never lost hint of mockery but it did seem to soften a little.
He turned and caught Kiram’s hand in his own. Facing Javier, Kiram felt suddenly awkward and shy. His grip on the scrub brush seemed unsteady as if the heat of Javier’s fingers were drawing all the strength from him.
Javier pulled Kiram’s hand to his chest, guiding the scrub brush over his sharp ribs and down along his flat stomach.
“Like that, you see? Firm but gentle.”
Kiram couldn’t reply. He could hardly think. Javier’s closeness, the heat and scent of him, the sensation of his skin against Kiram’s own, it all overwhelmed his senses. Anticipation and confusion rolled through him.
If he had been standing like this with Musni, or any other Haldiim youth, he would have known what to think and what to do. He would have known that this was a seduction.
But the Cadeleonians were not like the Haldiim, and Kiram knew that their laws forbade even the thoughts that raced through Kiram’s head.
Kiram’s breath felt ragged. He couldn’t pull his gaze away from Javier’s face, his dark eyes, his sharply curved lips. Kiram almost leaned into Javier, almost laid his lips against the graceful curve of Javier’s neck. But then he saw the slight quirk of Javier’s mouth.
